Everything Given
by Talonwings
Summary: After the Cataclysm, Ryllea's family is left homeless and penniless, and Ryllea must use her strange talent for healing to earn their keep. However, that talent has earned her notice, both wanted and unwelcome.
1. Prologue

**I will make it clear now that I do NOT own Warcraft or its canon figures, locations, etc. That all belongs to Blizzard. I do, however, own my OC's. **

_Prologue_

The air was warm, a balmy breeze carrying the scents of the forest over the great stone walls of Stormwind City. Not many people were up and about at this late hour, but in the peaceful, tranquil Park district, two men stood talking quietly by the central, glimmering pond, watching the moon reflect in its sparkling shallows.

"Did he say when he would return?" one of the men, clad in a blue linen shirt and breeches, asked the other.

"Three weeks, at the most," the other replied, straightening his long azure robes.

The first man sighed deeply. "Does he tell you why?" he asked.

"Why what?" replied the robed man, sounding confused.

"Why he feels the need to go traipsing around the globe on these ridiculous adventures," the first man stated simply and with fervor. "What does he need to prove?"  
>"He doesn't need to prove anything, Kelvan, nor is he trying to," the robed man said gently. "He's just…young, and full of a zest for life that I can't bear to quash. If he wants to see the world, then I'll let him."<p>

Kelvan sighed again, the sound rippling through the still night. "I know, Halyor," he said heavily. "It's just… I just think he would be safer here in Stormwind, especially with the recent…unrest…among the elements. You know what the shamans are saying."

"The shamans are all mystics, full of mumbo-jumbo," Halyor snorted. "Nothing is going to happen, just like every other time someone's predicted the end of the world."

"It just feels…different, somehow," Kelvan said. He laughed then, lightening the mood. "You're probably right, though. I'm just working myself up."

Halyor laughed, too, grateful for the lift of tension. He opened his mouth to speak, when, suddenly, there was a booming crash that assaulted the eardrums of both men. Both fell to the ground, clutching at their heads. Even with their ears covered, though, they heard the deep, malignant voice that began shouting, carrying over the walls and through all the districts of Stormwind.

"Citizens of Stormwind!" it roared. "Your time is up! I have come to end your worthless, pathetic lives. But first, you can watch as your city is devoured by fire!"

Kelvan and Halyor both looked into the sky, both gasping in shock and terror as a massive black dragon, covered in spiked armor plating, flew overhead. The dragon soared over the main wall, circled once, then about-faced, his massive maw opening as he faced the Park district. Kelvan knew what was coming, knew he should run, call for help, but he stayed frozen to the spot, unable to take his eyes off the massive specter of death looming over Stormwind.

"BURN!" the dragon roared, and with that, he unleashed a torrent of fire straight at the Park. Every single building seemed to ignite simultaneously, going up in a whoosh of flame and intense heat.

It took mere seconds for Kelvan's clothes to catch fire, and only seconds more before the concentrated power of the dragon's breath seared through his very body. But in those few seconds of life left to him, he screamed one thing and one thing only.

"CATACLYSM!"


	2. Chapter 1

_One_

"Where are you going, Ryllea?"

The question was soft and whispered, but Ryllea could hear it all the same. The accusatory tone in her sister's voice hurt her more than she would even admit to herself, but she hid it well.

"Mama says there's another sick man out at Furlbrow's," Ryllea told her little sister Alessa. "I've got to go and help him."

"Why? Why tonight?" Alessa pleaded quietly. "Don't you care about my birthday?"

A sharp stab of guilt hit Ryllea right in the heart, but she stood firm. "I have to, Alessa," she said gently. "I care very much about your birthday, but this man is paying, and we need the money."

Ryllea tried not to let herself notice the glittering tears pooling in her sister's eyes; ten years old was a very special birthday for the Carter family girls, and Ryllea knew how much it was hurting Alessa for Ryllea to leave her with only their younger brothers. However, Ryllea also knew her responsibility, and so her mind was set.

"I'm sorry, Alessa," she said. She reached out her arms for a consolatory hug, but Alessa just looked away. Stung greatly, Ryllea shrugged, pulled up the cowl of her ragged cloak, and walked out into the chilly Westfall night.

"How sick is he?" Ryllea asked her mother as they walked over the brown grass toward the pumpkin farm. The wind blew constantly now, stirring their hair and tugging at their cloaks. The wind had been blowing every day since… Ryllea shrugged away from that train of thought.

"Quite ill," replied Krysten Carter tiredly. "He's been bedridden for two weeks now."

Ryllea gulped. This would be one of the greatest challenges she'd ever taken on.

"And they're sure they want a fifteen-year-old girl as a healer?" she asked dubiously.

"Quite certain," her mother said, although Ryllea could tell she was nervous. Her sentences were short and peppered with _quite_, a sure sign that Krysten Carter was anxious.

Ryllea took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for the images of sickness and sorrow she would be facing shortly. Despite possessing this unusual talent even as a small child, the sick and dying still frightened her, as much because it was her job to save them as because of their appearance.

Mrs. Carter nudged Ryllea's shoulder. "We're here," she said, gesturing ahead.

Ryllea looked up to see a small, weather-beaten house up ahead. The wooden shutters on its windows were cracked and hanging from their hinges, the door looked ready to collapse, and the faded white paint was peeling from the sides. Directly before the house stretched an unkempt, untended pumpkin patch, overgrown with weeds.

"He's inside," said Mrs. Carter.

Ryllea took one more deep breath, let it out, and walked through the door.

The first thing to hit her was the stench. She nearly gagged on the combined smells of body odor, urine, feces and sickness, and the wall of revolting odors smacked her in the face with an almost tangible force. Fighting the urge to pinch her nose, she looked around the small room.

Right in front of her was a fireplace, and before the fireplace sat a bed. In the bed lay an extremely pale, extremely sickly-looking young man. He couldn't have been more than sixteen years old, but he looked aged and worn. His skin was a lurid yellowish shade, his eyes were sunken deep into his head, and even from that distance, Ryllea could feel the sickness radiating from him. It was absolutely horrid.

Choking back a gag, Ryllea moved toward the bed. Just then, an older woman stepped through the door. When she saw Ryllea, her face sagged with what looked like relief.

"Jack! The healer's here!" the woman called. Almost instantly, the face of an older man appeared in the doorway.

"Oh, thank goodness!" he cried. "We thought you'd never arrive!"

"Quiet, Jack," the woman scolded. She turned to Ryllea. "Can you save him?" she asked tensely.

"That remains to be seen," Ryllea replied calmly. She had a lot of experience dealing with grieving families, and knew they needed to be treated with calmness and patience. "I'll need some space," she said gently, indicating the door.

The woman caught on immediately. "Of course," she said, backing out the way she had come. Both faces disappeared from the entryway.

Ryllea approached the bed, kneeling down before the sickly youth. Awkwardly, she unbuttoned his linen shirt, laying her cool hand upon his chest. Almost immediately, her mind went into a trance. Now she saw the boy, not as a human, but as sort of a transparent frame filled with substance. The light, golden substance was the healthy tissue and blood, while the chunky, goopy, shadowy ooze was the illness. And the light was fighting a losing battle. Darkness engulfed most of the boy's slender figure, starting right in the center of his chest, near his heart, which, impossibly, still pulsed with feeble light. It was this light that Ryllea began to draw on and amplify. Concentrating, she visualized her hand becoming light, like the healthy parts of the boy's body. Once that was accomplished, she visualized her own light flowing into the boy's heart, strengthening his light and pushing back the darkness. Slowly, but steadily, the encroaching darkness began to recede, the bright radiance of Ryllea's light combining with the light in the boy's heart and spreading throughout his body. Ryllea could feel herself weakening with the passing minutes, but she kept up, the light flowing from her to replace the darkness. Finally, blessedly, just when Ryllea felt about to collapse, the last iota of darkness was banished from the boy's body. Ryllea jerked her hand off the boy's chest and fell to the floor, exhausted and drained.

After a few minutes of deep breathing, Ryllea put a hand on the bedpost and hoisted herself up, groaning, to inspect her handiwork. Instantly, she saw the improvement in the boy's condition. The sickly pallor had diminished, and color had begun returning to his cheeks. His breathing was regular and even, and he lay still, sleeping soundly.

"Ma'am?" Ryllea called tiredly. "Sir? You can come in now."

Almost instantly, the man and the woman appeared in the doorway, both gasping when they saw their son.

The woman hugged Ryllea tightly. "Thank you," she wept, again and again. "Thank you for saving Dominik."

At last, the woman let go of Ryllea. The man, Jack, shook the exhausted young healer's hand, giving her a look of total gratitude.

"Keep him fed and hydrated," Ryllea instructed, "and if you can afford peacebloom essence or elixirs of strength, those would be beneficial as well."

"Oh, that reminds me," the man said, drawing from his belt a small coin purse. "Your payment," he said, dropping the purse into Ryllea's hands.

Ryllea felt her jaw drop. "All of it?" she asked in an incredulous whisper, scarcely able to believe her luck.

"It's all we can afford, but certainly less than you truly deserve," the man replied. "We thank you with all of our hearts."

Ryllea gave him a warm smile. "It's my pleasure," she said sincerely, tucking the coin purse away. She waved one last time to the overjoyed couple, then started out the door, her weak legs nearly buckling with every step. She found her mother waiting for her down the path, an anxious look on her face. Ryllea simply nodded, holding up the coin purse. A momentary look of relief crossed Krysten Carter's face, soon replaced by concern for her daughter. When Ryllea nearly stumbled at her next step, Krysten picked up her daughter, fifteen though she was, and carried the spent girl all the way home, where she was placed gently into bed. Ryllea slept soundly all night, until the next morning.

**I would like to thank coincidencless for reviewing my epically short Prologue, and also to say how surprised and amazed I was that you reviewed. I am a huge, super fan of Coup de what? and I love Selriona and Amanthe with all my heart! :)**


	3. Chapter 2

Morning arrived, slanting golden-yellow shafts of sunlight through the dusty windows of the tiny house. Everyone in the Carter family was still asleep; Ryllea and Alessa in their shared room, and the three younger boys and Mrs. Carter in the next room over. Suddenly, the peaceful family's collective slumber was shattered by a sharp rapping on the weather-worn front door.

Ryllea was the first one to awaken, refreshed by the night's sleep. Stretching, she rose soundlessly from her cot, careful not to disturb Alessa, and padded into the front room clad only in her light breeches and blouse. Yawning widely, she opened the door to reveal a tall, spindly-looking man in a white robe.

"Can I help you?" she asked curiously.

"Are you Ryllea Carter?" the man asked seriously, pushing his wire-rimmed square spectacles up on his nose.

"Um…yes?" she replied, her answer sounding more like a query than a statement.

"What's going on in here?" asked Mrs. Carter's voice from behind Ryllea. The younger girl turned to see her mother, still wearing a nightgown and with her hair unkempt from sleeping, standing behind her.

Seeing the well-dressed figure at the door, Krysten Carter put one hand self-consciously to her messy hair, and then said graciously, "Do come in, sir."

"Thank you," the white-robed man replied, nodding to her.

Ryllea moved aside to let the strange newcomer through the door. He entered slowly, stepping lightly on the creaky boards. Ryllea watched him with curiosity as he maneuvered carefully through the house, finally coming to a stop in front of the one worn sofa. He took a cautious seat, as if testing the strength of the old piece of furniture.

Mrs. Carter reemerged from her bedroom, having taken the time to brush her hair and don her 'best' dress while the stranger was moving through the house. Now she stood to face him, and Ryllea stood beside her.

"What can we do for you, Mister…um…?" Mrs. Carter began.

"Nathan Tremont," the man replied. "Priest of Stormwind City."

"Oh, good gracious!" Mrs. Carter exclaimed.

"No need for alarm, there's no trouble," Tremont assured her hurriedly, holding up his hands in a peaceable gesture. "I've come to inquire about your daughter Ryllea."

Mrs. Carter put a protective arm around Ryllea's shoulder. "What about her?" she asked suspiciously.

"Like I said, no need to worry," Tremont answered, again making the soothing gesture with his hands. "It's come to our attention, thanks to some of the more…er…prosperous citizens of Westfall, and the attention of the People's Militia, that Ryllea possesses certain…abilities. Am I correct?"

"You are," Mrs. Carter conceded reluctantly.

"Well, from what we've heard, Ryllea's special skills are very similar to those of our own priests, in the city," Tremont said.

"What?" Mrs. Carter gasped in shock. Never had she expected to hear this.

Tremont turned to face Ryllea. "When you heal people, you see the light and darkness fighting in their bodies, don't you?" he asked her gently.

Ryllea nodded, too stunned to speak.

"Imagine if, instead of taking long minutes fighting the darkness with your will, you could banish it with a word," Tremont told her.

"Can you…can you do that?" Ryllea asked, curious in spite of her shock.

"I can, and more," Tremont told her. "Watch this." The man stood up, closed his eyes, chanted a few brief, unintelligible words, and the air around him flashed with bright light, momentarily dazzling Ryllea's eyes. When her sight adjusted, she gasped to see Tremont surrounded by what looked like a bubble of pure, golden light. Tentatively, she reached out a hand and touched it. The light was warm on her hand.

"That's amazing," Ryllea said in awe.

"You could do it too, with training," Tremont said. Then, clapping his hands, he continued, "Which brings me to the reason I've come. I- that is, we- would like for Ryllea to come to the city to train at the Cathedral of Light."

Both Ryllea and her mother stared openmouthed at the man, neither able to say a word.

Finally, Krysten Carter broke the silence. "I'm sorry," she said firmly, "but we need Ryllea here. She…well…she is the only one capable of bringing in money for this family, and we have five children. No, I'm sorry, but she will be staying."

Ryllea felt a pang in her heart; she really had wanted to go with the priest and to train and develop her talents. However, her mother's firm hand on her shoulder and her own sense of duty to her family bade her lock her opinions inside.

Tremont looked confused. "Staying?" he asked. "But…ma'am…how can you deny your daughter such a unique opportunity? Only the most promising are selected for recruitment to the ranks of priests and paladins. The Cathedral and the City need Ryllea."

Krysten Carter squared her shoulders, looking Tremont straight in the face. "This family needs her more," the woman replied.

For the rest of the day after Nathan Tremont left, Ryllea wandered around in a sort of dazed stupor. She had been offered the chance of a lifetime, been told that her skills were coveted by the talented Light-wielders of the City, and her mother had turned it all down for tuppence.

Somewhere deep inside, so deep that even Ryllea didn't realize it, a tiny seed of resentment had been planted: resentment against her mother, against her family, and against her whole situation.

"If Father hadn't died, none of this would have happened," Ryllea muttered as she sat on the worn sofa alone. She quickly slapped her hand over her mouth, mortified at what she had just said. Her sense of duty, morality and conviction had a tight and controlling hold over her thoughts, nearly smothering her flame of passion and emotion. Ryllea's emotions fought for a handhold, and she sat there for a long while, disturbed by the thoughts flashing through her mind.

_I can't believe Mama did this to me. It wasn't her choice to make._

_How dare you! Mama is the supreme authority in this household!_

_All Mama cares about is the money._

_No, Mama only cares about doing what is right for her whole family._

_What about what I want, huh? Does she care about that?  
>It's not her job, selfish prat. Your desires don't matter, only the wellbeing of the family.<em>

_My desires matter to me._

_You're insignificant._

_SHUT UP!_

A loud pounding on the door broke Ryllea from her trance. Clutching her ears against the nattering in her head, she moved toward the door.

"Who is it?" she called, but before she even put her hand to the handle, the door blew apart in an explosion of flame, dust, and rotting wood. Ryllea screamed loudly, jumping away from the door.

Through the dust and debris of the explosion, Ryllea could make out a figure coming through the doorway. The figure was dressed in a long black cloak, but any other details were obscured by the smoke.

Ryllea backed away as the figure drew closer, stopping only when her back hit the wall. She held her breath and watched the newcomer's advance. Slowly, she began to make out details.

What she saw frightened her more than any explosion ever could.

Standing tall and straight at around five foot six, the newcomer was clad in a jet-black cloak woven out of some sort of shiny, silken material. Strange, bluish-violet runes seemed to dance over the surface of the cloth, but Ryllea hardly paid any attention to them, staring instead at the newcomer's face. The explosion had knocked back the cowl of her cloak, revealing a jade-green face framed by blue-black, wiry hair. Dark brown eyes, nearly black, stared steadily out of the sharp-featured face, and as the mouth curved up in a smile, Ryllea noticed clearly the two small tusks curving upward from the lower jaw.

It was an orc.

Ryllea tried to scream again, but no sound came out except for a hoarse, whining moan. She suddenly realized, and with great alarm, that no one else in her family had come into the main room to see what the disturbance was.

Just as she realized this, the orc came within arm's length of the human girl. Instantly, two jade-colored hands grasped Ryllea's shoulders, pinning her to the wall. The orc stared at her maliciously, still smirking.

"Who…who are you?" Ryllea squeaked, and then mentally kicked herself for asking such a stupid question when this creature might be about to kill her.

The orc laughed, a deep-throated, mellow sound that came right from the chest.

"Pathetic," she growled. "I've come to recruit you, a sniveling human girl who I shouldn't even be wasting my time on, and you have the gall to ask me who I am?"

She laughed again. "I'll tell you anyway, can't hurt. I'm Gravvah, and that's the only name you need to know." She seemed to think for a moment. "Well, perhaps Mistress, but that'll come later." She grinned evilly at Ryllea.

"What do you want with me?" Ryllea asked, her voice a little stronger now.

"Didn't I just tell you, slime-for-brains?" Gravvah replied, sounding annoyed. Ryllea gulped. "I've come to recruit you to the Twilight's Hammer."

Ryllea gasped. "I've heard of you!" she said, her eyes widening with fear.

Gravvah laughed. "I should bloody well hope so!" the orc exclaimed.

"You're the ones who've been stealing dragon eggs!" Ryllea said. "You worship Deathwing!"

The smile instantly disappeared from Gravvah's face. "That sounded like an accusation," she growled threateningly, squeezing Ryllea's shoulders a little tighter. "Are you accusing me of something, whelp?"

Terrified, Ryllea shook her head frantically, her mouth snapping open and shut like a guppy's.

"Pathetic," Gravvah spat again. She glared into Ryllea's face. "Now you listen to me, whelp, and you listen good, because I'm only gonna say this one time. You're joining the cult whether you like it or not. Now you can make this easy, or you can make it hard, but you're not gonna decide just now." And before Ryllea could react or cry out, Gravvah backhanded her across the face, and the human girl slumped over, unconscious.

With one last contemptuous glance around the human hovel, Gravvah hoisted her new cargo onto her shoulder and strode out of the pathetic dwelling.

_Two_

The terrible, pulsing headache was what finally brought Ryllea back to consciousness. Groaning, she tried to sit up, but found that she was bound by her hands and feet. She struggled feebly for a minute before a strong hand whacked her in the back of the head; not enough to knock her out again, but enough to cause extreme pain. Ryllea whimpered.

"Silence yourself, human," she heard Gravvah's growly voice admonish her. "You'll be getting no sympathy from me, and anyway, you might not want to struggle up here. You'd fall, and die." Gravvah chuckled.

_Up here?_ Ryllea wondered. _What did she mean by that?_ The young woman opened her eyes and fought back a gasp. She was lying, bound and prostrate, on the back of some sort of dragon. Its bluish-purple scales, the same color as the runes on Gravvah's robe, were hard beneath her bound hands.

Ryllea instantly went limp, not moving at all. She heard Gravvah's grunt of satisfaction. "That's better," the orc said approvingly.

"Where are we going?" Ryllea asked. She instantly regretted it, knowing by now Gravvah's easy irritation, but her curiosity simply would not shut up.

Gravvah laughed, to Ryllea's immense astonishment. "You seem to know so much about the cult, but you don't even know where headquarters is?" she chuckled. "You humans certainly have selective memories… and to answer your question, we're headed to the Twilight Citadel, in the Twilight Highlands."

That gave Ryllea considerable pause for thought. The Twilight Highlands, to the north and east, were a place of great evil, second, at least in this war, only from Deepholm itself. She'd known, of course, that the Twilight's Hammer had a huge base in the Highlands, but had assumed she'd be taken to one of their smaller camps situated around the globe.

She opened her mouth again, but Gravvah, apparently out of her lenient mood, suddenly snapped, "Save your breath and be silent. I have no patience for your endless human questions."

Ryllea snapped her mouth closed again, fear clouding the questions from her mind. She said not another word during the entire flight, instead watching the air change around her as they soared over the Eastern Kingdoms.

"You. Whelp. Wake up."

The growled order awakened Ryllea instantly, and she opened her eyes wide, prepared for any sudden attack or punishment.

"We're landing soon," Gravvah said, and mixed in with the irritation, Ryllea could just detect a hint of something else…something…warm.

"I have to untie you so you can dismount with dignity befitting a new recruit and not be handed off like a sack of fruit," Gravvah continued, moving to Ryllea's side. Ryllea flinched as Gravvah drew a large silver dagger, its blade gleaming in the failing light. Gravvah rolled her eyes. "Relax, whelp," she reassured, if a bit sarcastically. "I haven't gone through all the trouble of 'recruiting' you just to kill you now."

Using the dagger, she sliced through the bonds on Ryllea's wrists and ankles. Ryllea rubbed her stiff, bruised appendages, wincing as the tender flesh flared with pain. Gravvah was completely unsympathetic, and in fact, completely oblivious to her plight as she focused on landing the huge indigo dragon.

Ryllea took the time to observe the landscape. Directly below them, framed by shattered rock walls, was an immense violet blemish on the ground, like someone had blown it up and covered it in violet dye. Tents were set up all around the area, as were various instruments of evil magic that Ryllea was unfamiliar with. Surrounding the twilight blemish, a greenish-brown landscape began. The grass looked faded, somehow, and the trees less than alive, but at least they weren't purple.

The dragon landed just then, ending Ryllea's survey in a jolt of pain and disorientation. They had come down in the middle of the purple area, and the air around them was a haze of purplish vapors that wafted into Ryllea's nasal passages and made her cough and retch. The air smelled of death and decay, and something else that Ryllea couldn't name, but it still sent a shiver through her spine.

"Get down," Gravvah commanded. "And please," she added, looking sarcastically back at the captive human, "try to do it with some sense of…well…knowing what you're doing."

With that, Gravvah flipped herself off the dragon's back in an impressive dismount, landing gracefully back on her feet on the violet ground. Nervously, Ryllea peered over the side of the dragon, seeing the ground feet below the huge beast's back.

With a sigh, Ryllea about-faced, lowered herself to her stomach, then slid her body off of the dragon until she was hanging only by her hands grasping the saddle…or what she guessed was a saddle. Suddenly, and to her horror, the dragon gave an immense, roaring yawn, swinging its whole body, and by extension its tail, around. The huge implement whipped around, just glancing Ryllea's shoulder. Her shoulder exploded in pain, and she dropped to the ground in a heap of agony. From somewhere nearby, she heard Gravvah's frustrated groan of "Can't you do anything right?" and then she was hoisted from the ground and carried over the orc's shoulder again, biting back a scream every time her left arm jounced around. Finally, the constant, intense pain took over, and she felt her mind fading into blessed, numb darkness.


	4. Chapter 3

Ryllea awoke for the third time lying on some sort of bed. Opening her eyes slowly, she discovered that she was in some sort of infirmary tent. Mattresses were lined up along the canvas walls, and each one supported a sick or injured cultist. Ryllea turned her head to the left, where she felt an odd pressure on her shoulder, which she discovered came in the form of white bandages wrapped tightly about her upper arm and shoulder.

Cautiously, Ryllea sat up, supporting her weight on her uninjured right arm. The people on the mattresses, like herself, had been stripped of armor or protective clothing, and were all dressed in simple white linen robes. Many of them were unconscious, and most of those who weren't just stared at the ceiling in disinterested apathy.

Unwillingly, Ryllea felt her heart going out to all these sick and wounded. Yes, they were cultists, but somewhere deep inside, they were also people, and they were suffering. It flew in the face of Ryllea's morality not to ease their suffering.

_But no, _she told herself firmly, forcing herself to lie back down and ignore the soft, whispery moans around her and the nagging conscience in her head. _I will not help them, they are evil. _

She chanted this over and over in her mind, turning it into a mantra, a ward against the whispers that seemed so much like pleas for help.

"Whelp!"

The loud shout finally broke Ryllea out of her reverie. She opened her eyes quickly, surprised that they had been closed. She didn't remember closing them.

Gravvah stood over her, and the orc did _not _look happy. "You foolish, pathetic child," the orc growled. "I cannot believe that after all the trouble I went to bringing you here, you go and fall off the dragon like an ignoramus. Unbelievable," she finished, shooting Ryllea one last venomous look before turning her back to walk away. Still facing away from Ryllea, she added, "The healer comes at dusk. I hope you can't screw up being injured."

With that parting shot, Gravvah stalked out of the infirmary tent. Ryllea watched her go, and suddenly, something sparked inside her, something hot and intense. It was only a very small spark, but it quickly consumed the young human, mind and body.

It was anger.

"Okay then, Gravvah," Ryllea muttered to herself. "You want not screwed-up? Fine, I'll show you not screwed-up."

With that, she rose completely from her mattress, looked around cautiously, and then started walking purposefully toward the nearest neighboring sickbed.

From outside the tent, Gravvah watched the young human rise from her sickbed. The orc smirked to herself.

"I told them," she said smugly, although there was no one around to hear. "I told them I'd picked us up a valuable asset."

With that, she turned fully away from the tent and began walking. There was something she needed to see to.

Ryllea was reclining comfortably on the mattress, worn out from her day's work, when the healer arrived at dusk that evening, just as Gravvah had said he would. Her mouth curved up in a slight smile as the man walked in, waiting for his reaction.

"Good evening, everyone!" the healer said in a cheery tone. Ryllea mentally captured the stunned expression on his face when literally every single patient in the infirmary chorused, "Good evening!"

"What- how- huh?" the healer stammered, staring wide-eyed at his patients, all of whom seemed to be vastly improved.

"I believe you have Miss Carter over there to thank," a gravelly voice said from behind the man. Gravvah stepped into the tent, a satisfied smirk on her face. She pointed straight at Ryllea.

_What the- how does she know? _Ryllea wondered. She was positive that no one had been awake in the tent when she had used her abilities.

"You healed _all _of them?" the man asked in astonishment.

Ryllea slowly nodded her assent. "The price being that I can't rise, move, or perform any productive actions for the rest of this day and probably half of the next," she replied to him, her voice coming out as a hoarse croak. "And I'm so very thirsty, so if it's the will of my captors," here she shot a sarcastic glance at Gravvah, who just continued to smirk, "could I please have a drink?"

"Mana drain," the healer murmured, confusing Ryllea.

"I'm sorry?" she croaked curiously.

The healer seemed to snap back to the present. "Ah, of course you may have a drink. Tomorrow, when you are fully rested, you will report to me and your training will begin. You have much potential, I see that now."

"Wait, what?" Ryllea gasped, but it was too late. The healer walked out of the tent to get her a drink, leaving only Gravvah standing there, still smirking ridiculously.

"Why are you smiling like that?" Ryllea asked. She didn't care if Gravvah dislocated her other shoulder, she was tired of everyone treating her like trash.

The smirk diminished somewhat as Gravvah's annoyance flared. "Don't address me in that tone, whelp," she warned. "You've helped our cause more today than any of the rest of us has in weeks. Don't make me get angry with you again."

With that, Gravvah followed the healer out of the tent.

The next morning, Ryllea was once again jolted from slumber by the now-familiar voice of her orc captor.

"Get up, NOW."

"Okay, okay," Ryllea said tiredly, pulling the covers off and sitting up. She blinked twice, groggily, looking around with disorientation. The inside of the tent was only just beginning to turn gray with light.

"What time is it?" she mumbled.

"Time to get up," Gravvah replied, without an ounce of sympathy. "On your feet, _now_. Your training begins as soon as you've been fed."

Moaning, Ryllea heaved herself off of the bed, her left shoulder still stiff from being healed. She gave it a few good pops, then took the robe that Gravvah handed her- black, of course- dressed, and followed the orc out of the tent.

Shuffling sleepily, Ryllea followed Gravvah across the purple ground into another tent, where both of them were given fresh, sweet-tasting water and a hunk of bread with some cheese. It took maybe five minutes to devour the meal, and then they were off again, through the purplish, hazy air.

"So where-?" Ryllea began, but Gravvah raised her hand to cut off any further speech.

"Before you ask who, what, when, where, or why, I'll spare you the trouble, although it's not out of sympathy, I simply can't stand your endless questions anymore. I'm escorting you to your first training session with our resident healer and Shadow priest, Karson Darkov. You're beginning training this early because of what you did last night in that tent. All of those people, while not fully healed or cured, were significantly improved. That's the kind of power that, with training, can be turned into an invaluable force for our side."

"And what if _our side_ is not the same thing?" Ryllea asked bluntly.

Gravvah turned on her a gaze so ferocious that Ryllea recoiled. "Like it or not, you're one of us now," Gravvah growled at her. "It's out of our control, so just give it up. Stop hoping for escape. I silently destroyed the rest of your family before I collected you. They're all dead, and no one is coming to save you. You're on our side now."

Gravvah continued to walk, but Ryllea stopped there in the middle of the twilight blemish.

_Dead? Her family was dead? All of them?  
><em>Ryllea began to sob quietly, chest heaving, as the realization hit her. She pictured Alessa, and all the birthdays her little sister would now miss. She pictured her three little brothers, not even six years old, and her mother, who had only wanted what was best for their family.

_All dead. All gone._

"Whelp, get moving," Gravvah called from somewhere in front of Ryllea. The young healer looked up, her eyes shooting daggers and lightning bolts at the orc cultist.

"I hate you," she said quietly.

Gravvah nodded. "Fine, whatever, let's just go." The orc turned around and began to stride forward again, leaving Ryllea standing there openmouthed in shock and hatred. Slowly, Ryllea also began to walk forward, with a new purpose in her mind, fueling her every step.

_I will be the best little cultist trainee you ever saw, _Ryllea thought. _I'll train hard and fast and long, and be completely devoted to the cause. Because one day, when you're not expecting it, I'll turn on you. I'll burn this place to the ground. I will kill you. And I'll have my revenge. _

**Thanks again to coincidencless for reviewing literally EVERY SINGLE CHAPTER. **


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